


An Inappropriate Place

by ellekay



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-08
Updated: 2012-11-08
Packaged: 2017-11-18 05:09:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellekay/pseuds/ellekay





	An Inappropriate Place

Q kept his gaze on a massive mirror above the bar as he sipped at his club soda. He could barely hear himself think over the relentlessly loud dubstep pouring out of the club’s speakers. The entire place was full of blue light and sweating, writhing bodies. Q kept as far removed from the dance floor as possible, electing to take a seat at the bar, where the blue light came from beneath the glass counter. He glanced down at his watch. Two minutes to nineteen hundred. In three minutes, he would consider Bond late and go back to his flat to write the agent a long letter on choosing locales for their rendezvouses.

However, somewhere near one hundred and twenty seconds later, a hand slid onto the counter next to him.

“Evening.”

“Could you have picked a worse location?” Q said over the music, keeping his tone neutral. He glanced over at Bond, who was dressed simply and casually, smirking in a tolerant sort of way. He flagged down the bartender and order his standard vodka martini.

“Come now, Q, I assumed this was precisely your sort of venue.”

“Because I have a passing familiarity with coding? Not all hackers enjoy this sort of music,” Q said flatly. “You’ll recall our first meet was in a _museum_.”

“Wound a little tight, aren’t you?” Bond quipped, taking a sip of his martini. “You might have at least left the sweater vest at home.”

“The trade will take place tomorrow in the previously discussed location at oh-eight hundred hours,” Q said tersely. He dug a flash drive out of his pocket and placed it on the counter. “Your contact will give you the device as agreed, if all goes smoothly. If it doesn’t go smoothly, I’ve been authorized to have your Aston Martin dissembled and melted down for scrap.” Bond smirked.

“Taking lessons in bedside manner from M, I see.”

Q had a retort on the tip of his tongue, but he was interrupted by a strange hand on his shoulder. He turned to find a man he’d never seen before in a shirt three sizes too small invading his personal space. His blonde hair was styled straight up, to the point where it resembled a hedgehog atop a man’s head. He gave Q a long glance from head to toe before speaking.

“Is that your date?” he asked, nodding in Bond’s general direction. The corners of Q’s mouth pulled tight in an effort to avoid smirking.

“No, he’s not.”

“My lucky day,” the man oozed, leaning even closer. Q smelled tequila and cigarette smoke on his breath. “He looks a little old for you, anyway. Dance with me.”

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline, I was just about to--”

“Hey, sweet thing, it wasn’t a request. C’mon,” he grinned, grabbing Q by the wrist and tugging. Q barely had time to react before the man was suddenly dragged away from him. In a flash, Bond had the man’s face pressed to the counter, one arm twisted behind his back. The crowd visibly drew back from the bar.

“The gentleman said ‘no’, I believe,” Bond said calmly. He kept the man down with one hand and his own body weight as he reached over to take a sip of his martini. “Apologize?”

“Fucking prick,” the man growled, lashing backwards. Bond let him go and stepped out of the way so that he sailed backward on his own momentum. He caught his balance and straightened, looking ready to throw the next punch. Bond simply stood there, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his martini. The man glared hard at Bond for another moment or two before rolling his shoulders and vanishing into the crowd, who all slowly went back to dancing. Q turned to glare at Bond just as he set his drink on the counter and grabbed Q by the elbow, leading him quickly toward the rear exit.

“You honestly have no concept of the term ‘keeping a low profile’,” Q hissed once they were in the alley behind the club, yanking his elbow free of Bond’s alarmingly strong grip and straightening his shirt. He was tempted to wrap his arms around himself to keep warm, but thought better of it. “I’d have handled that fine on my own, thank you.”

“Oh, my apologies, were you going to bore him to death? Send him a nasty email?” Bond snapped, fixing Q with an icy glare and moving within an inch of his face. He took a moment to find his voice again.

“I doubt it was anything so serious,” he muttered, holding Bond’s gaze.

“Yes, well, instinct comes with experience. Something you happen to be lacking.”

“I don’t need you to protect me,” Q said pointedly, slowly, not backing down. Bond exhaled harshly, his breath freezing in a cloud in Q’s face. The younger man felt a shiver go through him that couldn’t be strictly explained away by the cold. He wasn’t sure whether to lean away or closer.

“You’re cold,” Bond said suddenly, not breaking eye contact.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re wearing less than I am.” Q found his voice a little breathier than he’d have preferred.

“How close is your flat?”

“It’s a few blocks away. Why?”

“We’ll get a cab.” He gestured toward the mouth of the alleyway and started walking, keeping an eye on Q to make sure he kept up. Q followed, baffled but determined not to show it.

“I don’t need you to walk me home, either. I’m a grown man,” Q muttered as Bond flagged down a taxi. The ride was brief and quiet, aside from Q giving the driver his home address. He kept his gaze pointed out the window, and felt the faint tingle of Bond looking at him out of his peripherals. He was a man trained to watch people without looking at them, and Q was having that fact driven home with a faint heat across his cheeks.

Q didn’t question Bond when he got out of the cab with him, followed him into the building, up the stairs, right up to the very door of his flat. He pulled his key out of his pocket and held it in his hand for a moment, turning it over, feeling the cool ridges against his thumb.

“What makes you think you’re coming in?” he asked quietly, glancing up at Bond. The man’s lips twisted up into an absolutely filthy smirk.

“Instinct. And experience.”

Q held his gaze, keeping his face bravely neutral before wordlessly unlocking his door, opening it, and pushing it open for Bond, who stepped in with the same self-assured smile in place. Q hung his key on the hook by the door. He felt uncommonly out of place in his own home with Bond glancing around it, taking in the details, no doubt memorizing every millimeter of the place. Men like Bond never turned off, and it was part of the reason they were so valuable.

“Not much of a decorator, are you?”

“It’s called ‘minimalism’. I’m only ever here long enough to sleep, in any case.”

“Mm. Well, we have that in common,” Bond murmured as he moved into the kitchen. Q rolled his eyes and followed him, loosening his tie as he went.

“Tea? Coffee?” he asked absently, flipping up his collar, pulling the tie free, and wrapping it around his hand.

“No, thank you,” Bond said quietly. Q glanced up in time for Bond to move in and kiss him harshly, hands immediately going to either side of Q’s face. He made a strangled noise of surprise, automatically grabbing at Bond’s wrists, but not enough to fight or resist. To his surprise, he found himself responding enthusiastically, parting his lips and surging against the older man, unable to control his hands as they traveled up Bond’s arms, over his shoulders, eventually clenching into fists against the sides of his crisp white shirt. He broke away with a needy gasp, still clinging to Bond.

“And here I thought this was an experience reserved for poorly chosen women at ill-advised times during operations,” he said in a rush. Bond made a noncommittal noise that might have been a chuckle and kissed him again, hands moving to his narrow hips, fingertips sliding under his vest and shirt, too hot against his skin. His arms slid tentatively around Bond’s neck, pulling him closer. His glasses were pressing into the bridge of his nose painfully hard, so he tore them off, tossing them somewhere in the direction of his stove.

“I’ve had enough of this,” Bond said against his lips. Q was about to ask what he was on about when he found his sweater vest being tugged over his head and thrown carelessly out of sight. His eyebrows furrowed in annoyance for a brief moment before Bond was on him again, teeth nipping just this side of painfully at his lower lip.

“God,” Q breathed, rolling his hips against Bond’s more wantonly than he thought himself capable of. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been touched like this, or had even wanted to. He made a noise of surprise as he was suddenly lifted off his feet and placed on his own kitchen counter. Bond broke away and searched Q’s face hungrily for a permission he wasn’t willing to wait for, as he began to immediately work the button and zipper of the younger man’s trousers, yanking at them until he had one leg off, the other dangling precariously off of Q’s ankle. Q lifted his hips to assist where necessary, suddenly apprehensive about where this was going, but he let out a low moan when Bond ran his thumb over Q’s clothed erection, and he found himself unable to think, much less worry. Bond stroked him insistently, nipping at his neck. Q could feel Bond’s lips curled into a smile against his skin every time they touched. He let out a noise that was something like a growl crossed with a moan, running a hand through Bond’s close-cropped hair. Bond began to nimbly unbutton Q’s shirt, and Q mirrored his actions, if a little less deftly.

“Slow down,” Bond murmured against his ear. Q did little to heed him, sliding his shirt off of his shoulders and running his hands over the other man’s scarred chest.

“Dare I ask how prepared you are?” Q asked breathlessly, tilting his head back for a moment while Bond assaulted his neck. He felt the man smile against his neck again before he pulled away, digging in his pocket and pulling out a few foil packets. Q found himself somewhere between irritation and relief, but it came out as a devious little smirk. “I don’t know why I’m surprised.” 

Bond merely chuckled against his ear lobe and continued to run his rough hands over Q’s body, brushing his fingertips down his sides, digging thumbs into his hips, pressing their bodies together, heavy and sensual.

“I do hope you realize we’re not doing this on my kitchen counter, Bond,” Q groaned. Bond responded by yanking Q’s legs around his waist and lifting him off of the counter. Q gasped and held on for dear life, trying desperately not to laugh at the fact that his trousers were still attached to his ankle and dragging on the ground. He kicked them off just in time for Bond to throw himself down on Q’s couch with Q’s legs pinned to his hips. Q immediately rolled his hips against Bond’s, letting out a low, obscene moan that made Bond dig his short fingernails into his skin. Q looked down at Bond and couldn’t help the devious smirk of victory he gave the other man. Bond held up one of the small foil packets in his face, tapping his nose with it.

“Since you seem to want to be in control of this situation.”

Q took his meaning immediately and snatched the packet of lube out of his hand, keeping the rhythm of his hips slow and steady, one hand braced against Bond’s chest.

“You don’t seem the type to hand control over so easily,” Q breathed. He shifted his legs around to remove his briefs, slid down to his knees long enough to tug Bond’s trousers and briefs down, leaving little kisses and nips along his chest, stomach, thighs, which earned him a few low noises of appreciation. Q straddled Bond once more, delicately tearing the lube packet open and coating his fingers with the substance. He kept his eyes locked on Bond’s too-vivid blue ones as he worked two fingers into himself, slowly at first, until his eyes fluttered shut, giving over to the sensation, breathing ragged and shallow. Bond’s hands were on his hips, massaging them with his thumbs while he watched Q’s little display with heavy-lidded eyes.

“I see you’ve done this before,” Bond murmured, the snark completely lost in the heavy arousal that laced his voice. Q didn’t respond, arching his back as he ran his free hand over his chest for Bond’s benefit.

“Do you want me, 007?” he purred. He felt Bond’s fingernails dig into his skin and grinned, withdrawing his fingers, the action making him whimper desperately for a moment. “Take me, then,” he begged.

Bond guided him down onto his cock, cautious at first, shallow, experimental. Q bucked his hips at a pace that he found comfortable, rolling them torturously against Bond’s, and he let his head fall back, scraping his short fingernails against Bond’s chest and he rode the other man.

“Christ,” Bond hissed, his grip white-knuckled on Q’s waist. Q fell forward, grabbing onto the back of the couch for leverage as he began to pick up the pace, each gasp turning into a whimper at the end, then a low moan, then a quiet murmur of _Bond_. They writhed together in a vicious rhythm, Bond giving Q the satisfaction of hearing a few low groans that started in the back off his throat and grew louder.

“God, Bond, I’m so close,” Q choked.

“Well, then, let me help you with that,” Bond said in a rush, wrapping his hand around Q’s cock and jerking hard. Q let out a noise of surprise that turned into an obscene moan. He lost the capacity for language entirely, and the phrase _ahgodfuckbondPLEASE_ came out of his mouth in a tumble. He came hard with a loud cry of _GOD_ , pressing his body against Bond’s while the other man pounded into him.

“Christ, Q,” he moaned into the other man’s shoulder as he came, arms around him, face pressed into his chest as he shivered his way through his orgasm.

They both took a moment to collect themselves, breathing heavily, wrapped up, messy and wrecked and intertwined. Bond abruptly chuckled against Q’s chest.

“What?” Q rasped, smiling in spite of himself.

“If we’re ever going to do this again, you might have to tell me your real name.”

Q put his lips against Bond’s neck and grinned.

“Not a chance.”


End file.
